


wolfsbane

by Stabbsworth



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Dragon!Willow, Dragonborn!Willow, Fantasy elements, Gen, Supernatural Elements, Werewolf!Wilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-16 02:51:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21263873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stabbsworth/pseuds/Stabbsworth
Summary: Wilson comes to Maxwell for help.





	1. a shortcut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy halloween! i figured i should do something like this.

"I-- M-Maxwell, the wolfsbane potion isn't… it isn't working--"

There was panic in Higgsbury's voice, he could definitely tell through the wheezing pants against his blazer.

He'd stiffened up at the contact at first, finding it abrasive after a… long while of going without it, but otherwise allowed the younger man to cling to him like a lifeline.

A slight twitch as his mouth formed into a straight line. The wolfsbane potion that he'd given the recipe over to was supposed to be a temporary fix.

"Get ahold of yourself, Higgsbury -- we need to move. Now."

A shiver, then a pained whine. Even Maxwell, in all his emotionally constipated glory, could see the agitation through the tears when Wilson looked up at him. "I-I can't-- I can't! Max, please--"

There was a huff from the taller man as he watched this. "I can't carry you back."

A wet giggle. Wilson had fallen onto his hands and knees at some point, elbows to the floor and hands placed over his head as he shivered amongst the pain in his joints.

Maxwell would have assumed delirium if he wasn't aware of the scientist's mischievous streak.

Eventually, he got himself up into a kneeling position, blearily wiping away the tears and snot from his eyes and muzzle.

He was a helluva lot fluffier than before the transformation had started, and the shape in his legs had changed to fit a more canine disposition.

Higgsbury let out a sigh, before standing up, already beginning to stutter out an apology.

Maxwell cocked a brow, clipping the lantern to his backpack. "Save it. We need to figure out an antidote for you. I'm not entirely certain of how the moon will affect you, and the last thing I want to deal with is another wild beaver."

"'m not wild. More lucid, if anything. D'you know how tiring it is to go through having bones rearranged-"

"Yes, yes, I'm made all too aware by your complaints. Now, if you'd follow me, I'd like to get back home before the hunting party starts."

"The… the hunting party?"

"A few people have probably heard us. There's a damn good reason why I stay away from this sort of area. It makes for a fine shortcut, but it truly isn't worth the hassle."

On wobbly legs, Wilson quickly followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i genuinely don't have much of an idea on how to write maxwell, since, you know, i don't really write him much.


	2. rumination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson ruminates on things.

The walk back to Maxwell's house could have taken anywhere from five to ten minutes. Wilson wouldn't know, his sense of time had been skewed for… quite some time.

The process behind the transformation of a human to a wolf-like creature and back had been a small source of fascination and wonder for him at some point.

Not so much now that he was effectively a conglomeration of a human and a wolf.

The locals had called them werewolves, had a few stories about them biting children and fleeing, and being murderous bastards.

He'd say the werewolf that bit him seemed to be doing it more out of self-defense, as if it was fully aware of the stories surrounding them. It was scared, and he knew that, and he would have done the same thing if he was put in that poor sod's position.

The locals had said they were ravenous beasts, driven only by hunger and bloodlust, and not caring where the flesh they bit into came from.

While the increased metabolism was certainly a mild cause for concern, he'd say that it was much easier to see what he could scrounge up from the pantry.

He met Maxwell upon a particularly bad night, bleeding and bruised, and he'd growled at the man. The older man had just huffed and chucked a chunk of meat at him, which he'd practically wolfed down in a hurry, then began sniffing to see if there was any more, to which the man had responded by starting to walk away, and he'd followed.

This had culminated in a… sort of-cure for the transformations. The wolfsbane potion was supposed to help stop the transformations.

It had stopped working some time ago, which was what he was coming to see Maxwell about in the first place, having met the man on the trail. The older man was fairly good at making potions, but the less that could be said about his bedside manner, the better.

Wilson blinked, blearily, scratching at his chin with a hand. (The process of growing the amount of fur that a wolf has was always so itchy.)

At the very least, it was perfect insulation for when the weather took a sharp turn for the worse. The temperatures slowly dropped as Autumn breathed the last of its essence into the falling leaves and the last crop harvest of the season, soon to be succeeded by Winter's frosty nipping.

He blinked again. The crackling and heat of the fire made this place awfully cozy.

A contented chuff escaped him as he listened to it, taking his fingerless gloves off and shutting his eyes, tilting his head back on the chair he was sitting on.

He opened them again to stare up at the rafters, ears swivelling around as he heard some noises from the kitchen.

Odd. He was certain that Maxwell was doing something upstairs.

Wilson blinked again, angling his head to look at the door that led to the kitchen area, before sitting up properly. He didn't quite feel like moving, but every part of himself was telling him to investigate.

He got himself up, unhooking his tail from behind the back opening of the wooden chair he was sitting on, dusting his slacks off and gingerly walking to the door, pressing an ear up against the surface and wincing when one of the floorboards under his paws creaked.

Then he pushed down on the handle and opened the door.

His jaw went slack for a moment, pointed ears swivelling back. Oh, stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter, you get to meet a very angry dragon.


	3. a discussion about dragons, lockpicking and stinging nettles (and the accidental befriending of a dragonborn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson discusses things with a new friend.

What was looking at him was a dragon, with horns and with oddly coloured scales around their eyes and a fringe that highlighted how fiery their stare was.

Amber eyes glared at him, and he could swear that they were glowing.

His tufted ears pinned back against his head while their fins flared out and smoke billowed from their nostrils.

"Where is he." Not phrased as a question, much more towards a demand.

Before he could stutter out a response, the dragonborn pushed past him and tried to head into the living area.

He gingerly weaved between them and the living area again, at least managing to give a proper response to the… demanding question.

"I-- If you're looking for Maxwell, Maxwell Carter, he's just gone to collect some ingredients." An awkward smile spread across his muzzle as he tried to at least make himself look friendly. "He should be back shortly!"

A glare was given to him, then a huff, a cloud of smoke being blown in his direction that he couldn't help but wince at as he tried not to breathe in the fumes. "You're pretty well-spoken for a werewolf."

"I'd like to think that I am. Perhaps… other werewolves would be more… talkative if you could meet them."

The dragonborn squinted. "And what makes you think that?"

"Well-- well, maybe if… they weren't practically hunted for sport, they'd be more willing to speak about things over a cup of tea."

"Pfah, hunted for sport? Only thing the mayor of this crapsack town is doing is upping the taxes."

"The taxes are needed to pay for infrastructure improvements. Though, it would be awfully nice if the richer folk actually paid."

"Now that's more my style. You sayin' we should steal from the rich an' give to the poor?"

"Yes, but stealing is illegal." A slight huff, before he moved to let them into the living area. "Believe me, I can imagine the sort of science that could be done with their money. Maybe we'd be able to figure out what the appendix is for."

"Wot's an appendix?"

"Uh. A sort of organ in a human, I think? Kind of linked to the digestive tract. My memory isn't infallible, so I may need to look this one up again."

He took a seat on the wooden chair that he was previously sitting on, watching the fire spit and crackle.

"How did you get in, anyways?"

"I had a spare lockpick sitting around, and I know better than to cause property damage to someone that I know could easily hex me."

"Wouldn't it have been easier to just pick the lock on the door?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, wolfieboy?"

Wilson's eyes widened as they… proceeded to get into the fire and idly lounge on a log. They weren't being burnt at all.

"How are you… doing that?"

"Doing wot?"

"The whole…" A vague gesture. "Fireproof thing."

"Issa perk of being a dragon, fuzzybutt. Some dragons are completely immune to fire."

He'd read up about this a while back, hadn't he?

The dragonborn yawned, mouth parting to reveal sharp teeth and a forked tongue.

Wilson shifted a little, before she asked a question.

"How'd you become a werewolf, anyways?"

"I… um. I found one out in the woods after following a hunting party for... some time. They bit and it drew blood, which… I can't bring myself to blame them for, they must've been scared out of their mind. I know I certainly was when I was chased out of town and, um. Maxwell found me."

"He's got an awful knack for finding people like us."

"Like us…?"

"Last I heard, he was helping out another guy with castor… werebeaverness. Think that bloke's curse has gotten a bit worse since then."

"...What are you here for?"

"Me? To get an amulet fixed. It's enchanted and it helps keep my fire breathing under control."

He cocked his head a little, before his eyes widened.

"I… haven't introduced myself. How rude of me. Um… my name is Wilson Percival Higgsbury, at your service."

"Willow."

"Just Willow?"

"Eh. I like the name."

"No surname whatsoever?"

"Look, dragons don't have a surname custom thingy."

"Huh. I'll… have to look into it. I don't want to burden you with too many questions."

"'s better than having a pitchfork pointed in my face."

"If… if you say so."

A lapse into awkward silence for the moment. Wilson shifted in his seat, before slumping a little, leaning his head back and huffing out a sigh.

"I hope he comes back soon."

"Too right. I hafta get this fixed if I don't want to burn things every time I sneeze."

"...I could fix it? Where is it broken?" He adjusts his position again, leaning forward.

"Look, you don't know what you're dealing with. This thing has an enchantment on it."

A side-eyed look was given to him.

"...A lot of things have simple solutions. Any repairs I do might not break or… cancel out the enchantment."

"If ya say so. I'd still rather get this fixed by someone who knows what he's doing."

A slight huff from the werewolf is all he responds with.

"It's going to be hell on my spine if I sleep in a wooden chair."

"Can't you just use the couch?"

"Look, I'd love to, but Maxwell would…" A pause as he takes a brief moment to yawn. "Maxwell would complain about the shedding."

"That sucks. I take it you're molting? Us dragonfolk do that."

"Isn't that some sort of preliminary measure to make sure no scales are too damaged to the point of being unable to go into a fire?"

"Supposedly, yeah. Still as itchy as getting stung by stinging nettles."

"You can get stung by stinging nettles?"

"Yeah, we can."

"...Oh, lord. I'd love to do some tests with that, but I doubt you'd be a willing participant."

"Hell no. Stinging nettles are a pain in the arse. No idea what the use is for them."

"I've heard they make for a good tea, but I… don't really drink tea."

"Wot, aren't you British?"

"I am, in the case you couldn't tell by my accent."

"I'm pulling yer leg, Wilson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not entirely sure on how to write Willow either.
> 
> aside from giving her a very informal tone of voice.


	4. a fleeting sense of safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's safe here. There's no mob full of pitchforks and muscle and torches and shovels chasing him. There's no traps clenching into his leg with jagged teeth. He's safe.

Wilson cracks open an eye, then his other eye, then tries to sort out his bleary vision via blinking and bringing some much-needed lubrication to his eyes.

He must've dozed off at some point. He doesn't remember being on the couch. Hell, hadn't Maxwell told him to stay off the damn thing?

It takes him a moment to realize that there's a blanket covering him and a pillow under his head.

Could be worse, he supposed.

He wriggles to adjust his body, trying to at least get a little more comfortable on the seats, considering he's not going to be able to use them again for a while.

It's warm and comfortable and he's safe, and it's all too easy to start dozing off again.

There's no mob of pitchforks, shovels and torches chasing him.

He breathes out in a yawn, nuzzling his nose into the blankets and shutting his eyes again. He's fairly certain that it's night, why else would the fire be going?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be uploaded yesterday, whoops.
> 
> anyways, take some filler while i work a few things out.


End file.
